


A Fierce Family

by anjlivjndla



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, I really love the idea of thomas having a daughter, Slight OOC, Some angst, Thomas has a daughter, shelby family fic, so i decided to write it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anjlivjndla/pseuds/anjlivjndla
Summary: Thomas Shelby was a man made of hard edges and sharp points, even around his family, especially around his family, but somehow, that was different with his daughter, Amara.Season 1 of Peaky Blinders





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur nudged his brother in the side, nearly knocking the cigarette out of his hand, and pointed to a girl who had just walked out onto the street. She was young, but not as young as Tommy, and had slightly dark skin and hair tied up by a bandana.

  
“What about her?” Arthur asked, careful to not stare at her as she leaned against the brick wall and took the bandana out of her hair.

  
“What about her?” Thomas asked, barely looking up from his cigarette. She ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes as she leaned her head against the wall. The sun warmed her face and for a moment she thought she could stay there forever.

  
“Look,” Arthur elbowed Thomas in the side again, and nodded his head at the girl once again. Thomas rolled his eyes and looked at her, again, this time seeing the sun reflect off her skin, “What do you think?” Arthur asked.

  
“What do you mean?” Thomas turned his attention back to Arthur with a slightly puzzled look on his face.  
“She’s gorgeous, and it’s time you took yourself a woman,” He raised his brows suggestively, and Thomas rolled his eyes again at his brother’s antics, “C’mon, Tommy. You’re almost a man,”

  
“ No need to force it,” Thomas took another puff of his cigarette and looked back at the girl, who had tied the bandana back in her hair, and was just standing against the brick wall. She looked over at the two brothers and gave them a faint wave. Thomas gave her a small nod and took one last puff of his cigarette and stamped it out with his foot. He turned toward the door they were standing in front of and opened the door for Arthur before he followed him inside.

  
“I’m just saying,” Arthur was speaking over his shoulder as Thomas followed him down the hallway, “Don’t wait too long.” They stepped into the parlor of the house and found their mother cutting up bread for dinner. Her hair was tied up, but a few loose tendrils had shaken free and her skin looked paler than normal, but it always looked pale these days. She looked up as her sons walked in and pointed to the table with her knife.

  
“Boys, set the table,” She said, returning back to preparing the meal, “Your father will be home any moment now,”

  
“Wish he wouldn’t,” Thomas muttered to himself.

  
“What was that, Thomas?” His mother asked, not even looking up from the kitchen counter or ceasing her actions. There was a sharp edge to her voice that told her that she had heard what he said and was giving him a chance to rectify it.

  
“Nothing, mum,” He said, and took the cups off the table so Arthur could wipe it down, “I wish you wouldn’t insist on cooking every night. You need rest,” Arthur hummed in agreement.

  
“Nonsense, boys,” She turned and put the dishes of food on the table, “I’ll cook for my family until I’m six feet under.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that, Mum.” Arthur groaned and set the table, but they all knew that their mother wouldn’t stop. Her wit often got her in trouble, an unfortunate trait that was passed on to the majority of the Shelby children. Their mother gave them a knowing look and nodded at Thomas.

  
“Go get your siblings for dinner,” She said, and Thomas nodded and climbed the stairs of their house. It wasn’t much, but it was dry in the rain and warm in the winter and never lacking in love, and sometimes that was just enough.

  
“Ada, John!” He called, “Dinner!” A moment later, two bodies barreled past him, almost knocking him off his feet. The kids never had a shortage of energy in their system. Thomas shook his head and walked down the steps after them, pausing momentarily at the bottom to look out the window at the girl who was carrying an empty basket out of the house. It was that basket that would bring Thomas and the girl together, and it was that basket that would carry their newborn daughter to his doorstep about a year later.

 

 

1919, Birmingham  
Amara hated the Chinese quarter of Birmingham. It was always too loud and crowded, and half the time she got lost before she ended up at her destination. She knocked on the door of the tailor that her family used and took a step back as she heard the locks click.

  
“Sorry,” He said peeking through the space available from the door’s chain lock, “We don’t open for another hour.” His voice was accented and Amara could barely understand him through the surrounding noise. Even in the early hours of the morning, there were people bustling about. She stuck her foot in the door as he tried to close it and cocked her head to one side.

  
“I don’t think you understand,” she said. Amara held out a note to him, “I’m not asking. He wants to do it today. One hour. Follow the instructions on the paper.” The man took the note from her hand and paled visibly. He nodded frantically and bowed his head. Amara removed her foot from the door frame.

  
“Of course. My apologies. We will be there,” He closed the door gently and Amara turned on her heel to walk back to Small Heath in the early hours of the morning. She took the long way along the canal, preferring to stay in semi-clean air for as long as possible. By the time she got back to Watery Lane, the sun was beating down on her neck, a careful reminder that summer was almost at its end. She pushed open the doors to the house and found Finn smoking a cigarette next to the fire. At the sound of an opening door, he looked up quickly and visibly relaxed when he saw it was Amara.

  
“Oh, it’s just you,” He said and put the cigarette back in his mouth, “I thought it was Aunt Polly,” Amara just shook her head and took the cigarette from his mouth and plopped herself down on a chair next to him.

  
“You’re too young, Finn,” She said, putting the stick in her mouth and puffing on it. Finn rolled his eyes and leaned back in his own chair.

  
“I’m eleven Sunday,” He said and he took the cigarette back from Amara’s hand. She waved a hand at him.

  
“Yeah?” She stood up and went to open the double doors that led into the betting room, “See how that holds up with Aunt Pol,” She said over her shoulder and walked out of the room. The betting room was crowded as always and there were runners coming and going frantically, dumping money on tables and yelling out across the room. Amara ran her fingers through her hair and stepped into Arthur’s office to find him reading the newspaper with a drink in his hand. She kicked the door frame and he looked up, his anger softening as his eyes landed on his niece’s face.

  
“Hey, love,” He folded his paper and set it on the desk in front of him, “Up early, are we?” he joked, and Amara rolled her eyes. She sat down on one of the chairs across from his desk and picked up the paper he set down whilst swinging her legs on top of the desk.

  
“Yeah,” She opened the paper and sat for a moment reading whatever article she flipped open to, “Dad had me run some errand.” Arthur shoved her feet off his desk, which made Amara put down the paper in annoyance.

  
“What errand?” He asked and Amara folded the paper and put it back on the desk.

  
“He wanted me to give a note to the Chinese. Mr. Zhang,” She folded her arms across the desk and rested her head on her hands, “Don’t know why I had to do it so early, though,”

  
Arthur sighed, “So it would happen before betting hours started,” He ran his hands through his half shaved hair and downed his drink, “He’s doing the powder trick, I know it,”

  
“The what?” Amara asked, but Arthur continued as if he didn’t hear her.

  
“I told him not to, they have their own runners. They’re gonna fuck with our business, I know it,” Arthur paced around the small room for a moment before walking out into the betting room, “Right. Anyone sees Tommy, you tell him I want to see him. NOW.” He walked back into the room nearly running into Amara, who was now standing in the doorway of his office.

  
“What’s the big deal? I’m sure Dad has a plan, he always does,” Amara said, stepping to the side so Arthur could return to his desk.

  
“Yeah, that’s what’s worrying, love,” Arthur sat back down behind his desk, and Amara just leaned on the door frame.

  
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” She said, sparing Arthur one last glance before she walked out of his office and out of the betting room, passing Finn, who was still smoking the cigarette. Amara stood by the door frame of the house and smoked a cigarette. It was days like this that she was okay with being awake early. The sun was shining in the sky, casting a warm glow over her face as she puffed smoke out of her mouth.

  
“Morning,” someone said. Amara cracked one eye open, unaware that she had even closed them. Next to her was her father, Thomas Shelby. His hair was hanging down over his face, peeking out slightly beneath the cap that he wore, and he was standing next to her, his right shoulder leaning on the brick wall of the house. Amara held her cigarette out to him, a gesture that was readily accepted by Thomas.

“Morning, Dad,” she said, turning to face him, “Alright?” Thomas nodded and handed the cigarette back to his only daughter.

“Alright,” He said, “How’s business?”

  
“Good, I guess,” She shrugged, “Shop looked busy.” The ghost of a smile crept onto Thomas’s face.

  
“Good,” He pushed past her and walked into the house.

  
“Dad!” She called after him and she heard his footsteps stop, “Arthur’s mad! He wants to see you,” She heard him sigh and continue to walk into the house and Amara leaned back against the wall and continue to smoke her cigarette.


	2. Chapter 2

Small Heath was an industrial mess of a city. Factories blew smoke every day and never seemed to stop, but there was one spot near the Cut that wasn’t contaminated: the branches of the tree hung over the water, and the limbs were thick enough that Amara could stretch herself out and lay lazily in the sun. Some days it was her only escape from the chaos that was the Shelby family. 

Amara stretched her arms above her head and stared at herself in the reflection of the water. If the Shelby’s had not claimed her all those years ago, she would not have believed that she was apart of their family. Her hair was dark and curly, and her skin was tan, only made tanner by the summer sun; a stark contrast from the pale skin and blue eyes of the Shely clan. Thomas and Arthur often told her that she looked exactly like her mother, but she had no recollection of her; she left just after Amara was born. The Shelby’s were the only family that she had ever known. 

“If it isn’t the prettiest Shelby,” a voice called from the ground. Amara rolled her eyes and stared at the figure that was leaning against the tree trunk. He was tall and slender and his face was covered by a cap, much like the ones her family wore, but without the razor blades. He peeled an apple with his pocket knife, slowly chewing on the pieces as he stared at her with a smirk on his face. If Bernard wasn’t her best friend, Amara would have cut him a long while ago, but his harmless flirting was actually quite comforting, especially when her family life got to be too overwhelming. 

“Yeah? You ever seen John in the right light?” Amara asked. She motioned with her hand, and a moment later he joined her on the tree branch. He held out an apple to her and she took it, relishing the taste of fresh fruit, something that didn’t cross her path often. 

“How’s it?” He asked once he finished his apple and threw the core into the water below them. Amara watched it wash away with the current until she could see it no more. 

“Uncle Arthur’s mad at Dad for some powder trick, I’m not really sure--” She started and Bernard interrupted her. 

“Yeah, I saw it. Some Chinese girl blew this red stuff in his horse’s face, it was wicked. The whole street was hiding and she just came out of nowhere and then your dad was like--” Bernard stopped when he saw Amara’s face. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, right. Not the point,” 

“Anyway, it’s gonna be trouble. Ever since the war, Dad can’t sit still. None of them can, and it’s gonna get us all in trouble,” Amara swung her legs back and forth.

“I understand. Dad can barely sleep through the night. He sneaks out to whore houses every night, but Mum and I both know where he goes,” Bernard ran his hands through his hair, and looked at Amara. His eyes were glassy, like he was holding back tears, but for his sake, she didn’t mention them, “I hate the war for what they did to them,” Amara grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“Me too.” They sat there until the sun was high in the sky and they could no longer bear the hot sun. They hopped down from the branch, Bernard first, and then Amara, and walked back to Watery Lane, hoping to score some spare food from one of the bakeries on the way. 

“I hope this,” Amara gestured to the piece of cake she was eating, “never ends,” She stuffed another bite into her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the sweet flavor of the bread. Bernard didn’t answer, but she could hear him moan in agreement. 

“This is amazing,” He said, his mouth half full, “I love going out with a Shelby.” he said, and Amara jabbed him in the side with her elbow. 

“Is that all I am to you? Free dessert?” Her tone was light and humorous, but there was still an element of sharpness that often came with Shelby speech. 

“And that’s all you’ll ever be, Shelby,” Bernard said, with a playful look on his face, making Amara feign anger. They stared at each other for a minute longer in fake anger before bursting out into boisterous laughter. They kept walking, and before long, they showed up at the betting shop. Opening the door, Amara was met with uncharacteristic silence. She shushed Bernard’s lingering laughs and peered through the crack in the door. On the other side, the Shelby family was gathered around the table with Arthur at the head. 

“Shit,” She said. She shoved Bernard towards the door, “You have to go. Family meeting,” He nodded and gave her a quick pat on the shoulder before retreating out the door. Amara took a deep breath and opened the door to the room, nearly hitting Arthur. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Ada said amusedly, not even looking up from the paper she was holding, "With Bernard again?" Amara rolled her eyes and snatched the paper out of her hand. 

“What’s this about?” She asked, her eyes skimming the paper. She looked up at the people in the room, but none of them would meet her eye. That was one thing she had in common with her father; intimidation. “Uncle Arthur?” 

“The coppers are recruiting Protestants. To help clean up the city,” He said. 

“And?” She asked, taking a seat next to John, “When have we ever been scared of coppers?” John clapped her on the shoulder.

“Yeah. If they bother us, we’ll cut ‘em a smile each,” He said, a wicked grin on his face, and Amara had to agree. They had never had any copper problem that couldn’t be solved with a heavy hand. Thomas shot her a chastising look. No matter how deep she was into the family business, he never really liked it when the women got involved with the dirty work, especially his daughter. 

“So, Arthur, is that is?” Thomas asked. Arthur nodded his head, almost imperceptibly, to Aunt Polly sitting in front of Tommy. 

“What do you think Aunt Pol?” He asked her. Arthur’s head was still down, thinking about the new copper. 

“This family does everything open,” she said, her eyes glancing over everyone sitting around the table, lnding on Tommy’s stoic form, “You’ve anything to add, Thomas?” There was a slight edge to her voice, and immediately Amara could tell that Aunt Pol knew that Thomas was hiding something. 

“Nothing that’s women’s business,” Thomas said, puffing slightly on his cigarette. 

“This whole enterprise was women’s business while you were away,” Polly pointed at him with the cigarette in her hand, “What’s changed?” 

“We came back,” Thomas said with a slight nod and eyebrow raise. Polly nodded and leaned back in her chair. 

“Alright, meeting over,” Arthur said and sat down in the chair in front of him, burying his head in his hands. Amara gave a side glance at Thomas and raised her eyebrow at him. Even though he had changed substantially after the war, she always knew when he was hiding something. He shook his head once and walked out the room with everyone else, leaving her to deal with an exhausted Arthur. She placed a hand on his shoulder and sat next to him. Even though Thomas was her father, she had a good relationship with Arthur. He was more outwardly emotional, and sometimes that’s what both Arthur and Amara needed. 

“Uncle Arthur,” She coaxed, “What’s wrong?” He put his head up and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. 

“I just feel like I’m losing control of my own bloody family,” He said and Amara nodded. 

“It’s Dad’s fault, yeah?” She asked, a small smile on her face, and Arthur laughed humorlessly.

“He’s always been insufferable, yeah,” He said, and Amara handed him a glass of whiskey that someone had left on the table during the family meeting. 

"Here, take this,” Arthur took it and downed it in one go, “and go get your mind off this,” Amara stood up and straightened her hair. Arthur’s eyes followed her as she stood up. 

“What?” He asked. Amara handed him his cap and nodded toward the door. 

“I heard Susan Holmes and her friend were looking for an escort to the pictures,” She said with a hint of mischief in her voice. Though she was young, she knew all about the escapades that the Peaky Blinders went on. But, she tried not to involve herself, except when it was necessary, and it was necessary. 

“Is that so?” Arthur asked, his eyebrow raised. A smirk spread across his face and Amara nodded. 

“You can probably watch the next show if you hurry,” She said and Arthur sprang out of his chair with a new energy in his posture. He wrapped an arm around his niece and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. 

“Don’t wait up,” He called as he walked out of the door. Amara chuckled to herself and began to clean up the room that the other members of the family had left messy and cluttered. 

“I never plan to,” She said to herself between the empty glasses and scattered papers.


	3. Chapter 3

Amara spent most of the day around the house, cleaning the house as her family was out doing things that no one bothered to tell her about. Sweeping the floor, she started humming to herself. When she was younger, she used to sing, but now it just felt childish. She had learned a long time ago to have a purpose for everything, and singing had none. 

Finn burst through the door and pulled out the first chair he could see and then ran back to the door.

“Finn, what’s wrong?” Amara asked, leaning the broom against the wall and following Finn to the door. He didn’t answer, but led a bleeding Arthur into the house. His face was cut up and covered with red; Amara could barely see his face beneath the mask. Scudboat supported his upper half gently as he helped lower him into the chair, “What the hell happened?” Amara asked, already gathering a towel to help clean the blood off her uncle’s face. He winced as she applied the cloth and murmured a quick apology. 

“That Inspector,” Arthur said, and Amara removed the cloth just a little so he could speak, “He wanted to make a deal about a robbery of ‘national security’,” He winced as he shifted in his chair, and Amara put the cloth back on his face. 

“Hold this here, stop the bleeding,” She instructed, and he took the cloth from her hand silently, “Finn, go find Aunt Pol. Tell her what happened,” Finn nodded and ran out the door quickly. 

“Where’re you going?” Arthur mumbled through his beat face. Amara shook her head in annoyance. 

“To get you some alcohol. We need to clean your face. And I’m going to find Dad on the way,” She said walking out the door without sparing Arthur a second glance. Amara turned out the door and immediately had one destination in mind: the Garrison. It was her family’s favorite bar, and at any given point of any given day, there was at least one Shelby on its premises. She walked at first, and then ran, weaving around the crowds of people that were milling about the street. She dodged a woman with a child in one arm and a basket in the other and ran into another passerby. He steadied her before she could fall and Amara found herself looking into the eyes of her own father. 

“Hey,” He greeted. There was a small smile growing on his face, rare these day, but Amara had no time to appreciate it, “Where’re you off to in such a hurry?” 

She took a step back and took a second to catch her breath, “Arthur,” She said. Thomas’s face hardened at hearing his brother’s name and Amara could see his jaw clench. 

“What happened to Arthur?” He asked. 

“The inspector got to him,” She said. Thomas closed his eyes and took a few breaths. 

“Okay,” He said, opening his eyes, “I’ll get some rum from the Garrison, you run back there and make sure he’s not bleeding out,” Amara nodded and Thomas turned on his heel and walked briskly to the Garrison. Everywhere he walked, people parted around him, and Amara realized that her dad was the closest to a king she would ever get. She spun around and ran back to the house, arriving just moments after Aunt Polly arrived. She dabbed at his face, and only glanced up for a moment when Amara walked in. 

“Where’s Tommy?” She asked and Amara pulled up a chair across from Arthur as Ada walked into the room. 

“He’s getting rum,” Amara said. She pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one, glad that the smoke gave her something else to focus on than Arthur’s bloody face. She wasn’t squeamish, by any means, but she always hated seeing the people she loved in pain. 

“I took a class,” Ada protested, no doubt at something John said. Amara was only half listening to the conversation, instead focusing on Aunt Polly and Arthur talking to each other. Aunt Polly’s face was set in resigned disappointment, while Arthur’s face was a combination of anger and slight confusion, “‘Mara was there,” Ada said, thumping Amara on the back of the head and forcing her to pay attention to her. 

“What are you going on about?” Amara asked, and John chuckled slightly. 

“She took half a class on nursing, and now she thinks she can fix Arthur,” He said, his usual cheeky smile plastered across his face, and his toothpick hanging out of his mouth. 

“I learned a lot!” Ada protested again and sat next to Amara. She took the cigarette out of Amara’s box and lit it off the end of Amara’s. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Amara rolled her eyes at her. Ada kicked her in the shin, not hard, but hard enough that Amara knew she was slightly annoyed with her, “Oy,” She protested, but before she could say anymore, Thomas came through the door, the wood slamming against the wall as he sped into the house. 

A cigarette was dangling from his mouth as he uncapped the rum he was holding and held it to a towel, “Sorry about this, brother,” He said before applying it to the wounds on his face. Arthur winced and clenched his jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol cleansed his wounds. Thomas removed the towel from his face and gave the bottle to Arthur, “Drink,” and Arthur obliged, even before Thomas told him to. 

“It was that inspector,” Arthur said. He slammed the bottle on the table and glanced back at Thomas, “He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said. Something about a robbery. He wanted to make a deal. The Peaky Blinders to be his eyes and ears,” 

“We don’t help coppers,” John said, leaned against the door post. 

“He knew all our war records,” Arthur said, continuing like he hadn’t heard John. He was addressing Thomas, and everyone in the room knew that Thomas was the real brains of the Peaky Blinders, “Said we’re patriots, like him.” Thomas continued to clench his jaw, but said nothing. He stared at the floor, and Amara could tell that his head was working around every possible situation, spinning things this way and that. She always admired the way he could see things ten, twelve moves in advance. 

“And what did you say?” Aunt Polly asked him.

“I said we’d have a family meeting and take a vote,” He said, glancing at Thomas. He said nothing, which irritated Arthur. Amara could see his jaw clenching and anger beneath his blue eyes, “Well why not? Hm? We’ve no truck with Fenians or communists,” Arthur huffed and glanced at Polly and then back at Thomas, who was just looking at the ground, “What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?” 

Amara began to protest, but a quiet nod from Thomas halted her.

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists,” Polly said, glancing up at Thomas as she wrapped bandages around Arthur’s hand. Thomas snuffed his cigarette on the ashtray and walked out the door, Amara right on his heels. 

“Where’re you going?” She called after him. Thomas stopped in the middle of the road, but didn’t turn to face her, “What’s this really about, Dad? I know you had something to do with it,” She said, this time making Thomas turn to face her. Where she expected to see anger, she just saw exhaustion, which took her off guard for a moment, but as soon as it had come, it had gone. 

“What are you talking about?” He walked closer to her. 

“It’s not a coincidence. No one attacks the Peaky Blinders without a reason, even coppers,” She said. Her face was written with confusion and worry, and Thomas took a mental note of it. For all her strengths, he often forgot she was just a young girl, a young girl who had seen too much bloodshed and delinquency than he was happy with. 

Thomas nodded, “Sometimes things are just coincidences, Amara” He turned on his heel and continued to walk down the street, leaving Amara standing alone outside the green wooden door. 

 

After Arthur was cleaned up, Amara saw to it that her morning companion, Bernard, wasn’t too hurt that she had to kick him out so quickly. She knocked on his door and almost immediately his mother answered. She was a plump woman with fading auburn hair and kind eyes, kindness that Birmingham had yet to take from her. 

“Amara!” She pulled her in for a quick hug, nearly knocking her over. Bernard’s mother, Elise, was the only woman who consistently greeted her guests with a hug, “Come in, dear. I haven’t seen you in so long!” She shut the door behind her and held her at arm’s length, “Oh, you’ve gotten so big. I remember when you and Bernie used to play together years ago. The grass was nearly taller than both of you!” 

“It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Smith,” Amara chuckled, “I’m actually here for Bernard,” Elise waved her hands and gestured for Amara to go upstairs. 

“Of course, go on ahead! I have some errands to run anyway,” She grabbed a basket from next to the door and opened the door. She turned and looked back at Amara, “Great to see you, dear. Please come by sooner!” Amara nodded in agreement and went up to see Bernard. She knocked on his door and pushed it open before she could get an answer. 

“What do you want?” He asked. He was laying on his bed with a book across his chest, but Amara knew immediately that he had barely read it. He was probably too busy thinking about his father, or the Shelby family meeting, or a hundred different other things. Amara sat on the edge of his bed and glanced around his room. 

“D’you want to do some spy work?” She asked. She didn’t have to look at him to know he perked up. 

“I’m listening,” He closed the book and put it on the shelf next to him, “What spy work? Who’re we spying on?” 

“The new inspector. Campbell.” She said, turning to face him. His face fell, and he leaned back in his bed. 

“Nope,” He said, “I promised Mum I’d be more careful, and this is not careful,”

Amara rolled her eyes, “What, are you scared?” Bernard shook his head. 

“No! Of course not!” 

“Then let’s do it!” She turned her body to face him and looked into his eyes. Beneath the brown pools, she could see yearning in those eyes. 

“Why?” He asked and Amara sighed. 

“He roughed up Arthur. I want to know about him. I want dirt on him,” She said and Bernard didn’t say anything, “Please. He fucked with my family, and no one fucks with the Peaky Blinders,” Bernard sighed and sat up in his bed. 

“Okay, I’m in.”


	4. Chapter 4

Amara leaned against the wall opposite the restaurant that Inspector Campbell had went into just moments before. She puffed on the cigarette that was between her fingers and glanced around the street. It was empty, as most people were in their homes. Bernard appeared a moment later, his face red and slightly out of breath. 

“I talked to my friend in the kitchen,” He said. Amara offered him a cigarette and he gladly accepted, pausing for a moment to get it lit and between his lips, “He says Campbell has only been here for a couple days, but he usually orders the same thing. Ham sandwich with mustard. Never deviates,” Amara nodded and glanced through the window. Campbell was standing in front of the desk with his pipe sticking out the side of his mouth. Did he have that pipe when he was beating up her brother? She wondered. 

“So he has a routine,” She stated, not taking her eyes off him as he turned and walked out of the restaurant. He stopped as he saw her staring at him, but did nothing more than cock his head and tip his hat. There was a look in his eye that stirred something murky and uncomfortable in her soul. She tipped her hat in return, and he kept walking.

“He’s fucking creepy,” Bernard said, staring at him as he walked away, “Just something about his face.” Amara nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah,” She threw her almost finished cigarette out of her mouth and looked back at Campbell’s retreating figure, “We should follow him.” 

Bernard gave her a look of confusion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” 

Amara rolled her eyes, “C’mon, we’ve been at this for days and we don’t have anything. Let’s go.” Before she could go, he grabbed her arm. 

“Amara, I know this is personal, but you’re going to get in some deep shit. If not with Campbell, then your family,” Amara visibly paled. Thomas Shelby’s wrath was something no one wanted to be on the receiving end of. 

“No, we have to,” She said, and shook herself free from Bernard’s grasp. He shook his head. 

“I’m not going to watch you get yourself into trouble,” 

“Fine, then I’ll go alone,” Amara turned on her hell and followed Campbell before he could say anything. She hid in the shadows of the building; they were longer now that the sun was setting. In the back of her mind, Amara knew this was dangerous, but inside her was a need for justice. Or maybe it was a need to be something, be anything in her family’s business. He turned left and walked down an alleyway, dark and shadowed. Before she could talk herself out of it, she followed him.

He kept walking. His movements parted the smog that was curling from the dirt rock ground. She hurried to keep up with him, but before she could exit the alleyway, a man blocked her path and made her skid to a stop. His face was grimy and streaked with black, and even from a foot away she could smell the alcohol on him. 

“What’s this?” He asked. Amara spun around and almost ran into another man. He was much like the first, but instead of smelling the alcohol on him, she could see the near empty bottle in his hand. She turned back to look at the first man who was slowly inching forward, “Lost little girl?” 

“I think she might be lost,” the second one said. Neither of them looked at each other, and instead trailed their eyes up and down her body and face. Amara’s chest felt heavy; her breaths weighed down on her lungs and she couldn’t think straight. 

“You don’t want to do this,” She said. Her voice sounded small. The men laughed, slowly getting closer to her. She kept backing up, but both exits were blocked and she ended up against the brick of the alleyway. The first man reached out and grabbed her between her face and her neck; enough to hurt, but not enough to stop her breathing. Amara punched out blindly with her fists, but his grip only tightened. The other man took one final swig of the bottle he was holding and threw it against the wall. 

“Hold her.” 

 

Bernard pounded on the door of the Shelby’s house. His presence at the house was itself an act of desperation; he never saw the Shelby’s in their house, especially not without Amara. There was no answer and Bernard pounded again. The door flung open and Thomas Shelby stood in the frame. With the light from the window behind him, Bernard couldn’t help but notice for a moment that he looked regal, divine. 

“Bernard,” he deadpanned. Bernard avoided Thomas Shelby at all costs, but Thomas actually had a healthy appreciation for the boy. He knew he was one of, if not, Amara’s only friend, and Thomas knew that he was scared enough to not try anything, “What is it?” 

“She’s going to kill me for this,” He whispered to himself, and took a deep breath. He wiped the hair off his forehead, “but I think Amara might be in trouble,” 

 

The man grabbed her by the waist and Amara brought her knee up and felt a small sense of satisfaction as it connected with something solid. The man recoiled from her and doubled over. 

“Fucking bitch,” His eyes were rimmed with hatred, which Amara could see in the soft glow of the streetlamp at the opening of the alley. The man holding her removed his hand from her neck, just long enough to elbow her in the face. The force was enough to knock her off her balance and stumble slightly, but she was immediately yanked upright by a rough tug to the neck. 

The second man straightened himself and advanced toward her, this time with none of the slow intimidation of before. This was fast and quick, like a snake striking its prey. He propped her other arm up against the wall and yanked her skirt up to her knees, but before he could go any further, both men holding her let go and Amara fell to the ground. 

She took a moment to catch her breath, and clutched the wall behind her for support as she stood herself back up. Hands appeared on her shoulders and she quickly stepped back, but instead of another drunken man, it was her Uncle John. He lifted his hands in surrender. Amara shifted her focus back to the men who were previously holding her; one was on the ground, his ribs being kicked in by her Uncle Arthur, and the other was up against the other wall, his face being cut up by her father. Thomas pushed the man to the ground and spun around to face Amara. His face was spattered in blood and his features twisted in anger and disgust. He walked up to her and grabbed her arm, half leading, half dragging her out of the alley. She had to force herself not to recoil at his touch. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He shouted. Once in the light of the streetlamp, he inspected the injuries on his daughter’s face. Her face was cut up and the skin around her neck and eye was red and would probably leave bruises later on, but nothing beyond that. Amara didn’t answer, and instead stared at the ground around her father’s feet. She could feel the gaze of her uncles as they stood behind her. Thomas knelt down so he was closer to her eye level, “Eh? What were you thinking?” 

“I-” Amara’s voice cracked, and for a moment Thomas mentally scolded himself for not checking her wellbeing, but when Bernard had shown up at the house, he immediately knew something was wrong. There was a pit in the bottom of his stomach that still had not quite gone away. Arthur placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, which made him look back at his older brother. 

“Brother,” Arthur’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, “Let it go.” Thomas slapped his hand away and turned back to Amara. She looked up at him and took a deep breath. 

“I thought I could get him on something,” she said. She glanced back at the ground, unable to meet anyone’s eye, “I thought that if I could get something, then he would be out of our lives.” 

“And what would you have got him on?” There was a note of desperation in Thomas’s voice that was not usually there, “What if we weren’t here? Those men would’ve raped you and left you dead in that alley.” Thomas’s resolve almost broke as he let himself imagine what would’ve happened to his daughter if Bernard had not warned them. Behind Amara, John shook his head in disbelief at Tommy’s strong words. 

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath. Thomas thrust his finger at him, his desperation and anger and fear all mixing together. 

“It’s true, John. You know it is. We all do,” He looked back at Amara, who still could not look him in the eyes. 

“I did it for Arthur,” She looked up at him, a new fire in her eyes as she defended her actions for her family to her family, “I did it for John and Ada and Polly and you, Dad. That copper’s gonna come after all of us if he doesn’t get what he wants,” 

Thomas turned and walked a few steps and closed his eyes and took a breath in and out, and again. When his anger subsided, he put his cap back on his head and turned to face his family. In the washed out light of the streetlamps, Amara’s tan skin and dark hair was the polar opposite of Thomas and his brothers. He stepped forward so he was in front of his daughter and gently grabbed her chin, tilting her head from side to side to fully observe her injuries. Amara’s heart started pounding, but less than before as she reminded herself that she was with her family, the ones who saved her from those men. The only men in her life that would never hurt her. 

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, yeah?” He said and Amara nodded, “C’mon, let’s go home.” He started walking forward, Amara next to him and Arthur and John behind them. No one said a word the whole way home.


	5. Chapter 5

When Amara got home, the first thing she did was immediately go up to her room. Partly to avoid Polly’s “I told you so” lecture, and partly because she needed to scrub the disgust and filth off her body. She breezed past Ada and Polly who were sitting in the parlor room and dragged her feet up the stairs. 

“What happened?” Polly asked Thomas when he came into the house, a few seconds behind Amara. Polly’s tone was frantic and worried beneath the stoic exterior. Thomas shucked off his cap and sat down at the table, and drank the whiskey out of the bottle. 

“Two men had her against the wall in an alley. The one of Mott street,” Thomas said. His voice was void of any feeling and he set the bottle back down on the table, only for it to be picked up by Arthur. Thomas stared at the middle of the table, unable to stop thinking about finding his daughter in the clutches of two men, and the terror that seized him as he beat the shit out of the men who were hurting her. John accepted the bottle from Arthur’s hand and drank a gulp. 

“If we hadn’t gotten there in time…” He didn’t finish his thought and instead just took a shaky breath. 

“Jesus,” Polly whispered under her breath, her eyes following the staircase up to Amara’s room as she whispered a silent prayer to herself. In her bedroom, Amara was scrubbing herself from head to toe. The water was cold, but she couldn’t bear being in those clothes for another moment. Her breath was coming out fast and panicked, like the events were just now registering themselves in her brain. She kept scrubbing, but the filth wouldn’t leave her skin. In a fit of frustration, she threw the sponge against the edge of the tub. Amara pushed the heels of her hands against her face and ran her hands through her hair. All around her, the only thing she could hear were those voices. She took a deep breath and submerged her head underwater, and there was silence. The only thing she could hear was the blood pumping through her ears, and finally, she felt somewhat at peace. She opened her eyes under the water and stared at the hair that had started to float around her head. Dark brown tendrils that caught the candlelight, even under the water. 

She came up from the water after her lungs started to ache, and took several hungry breaths of air. She cleared the hair out of her face and wrapped a towel around herself. In the mirror, her reflection had barely changed, just a few bruises and cuts, but beneath the surface, a part of her was different, a part of her had shifted. It was the same thing she saw in her father’s and uncle’s eyes; vengeance and hard-edged terror. In that mirror, she made a promise to herself: no one would take advantage of her ever again. 

 

The bruises on Amara’s skin faded reasonably quickly, but her family refused to let the memory of them die. They didn’t let her out alone, so she spend the next week and a half either with Bernard or with a shadow in a flat peaked cap. Amara’s legs dangled over the edge of the canal-bank as she and Bernard sat in the early afternoon sun. 

“I just wish they would leave me alone,” She threw stones in the canal with each word. Bernard just watched her. 

“They do it because they care,” He said. He drummed his fingers on the stone, and took a deep breath. Did she know he was the one who ratted her out? “Hey, Amara.” 

“What,” she said. Her voice was terse, and if it were anyone else, they would stop talking, but Bernard had never been good at taking cues. 

“I’m sorry. I was the one that told your family,” He said. Amara stopped throwing stones in the water and looked at him. The quick spark of anger that she felt melted away as she saw the guilty look on his face. 

“It’s fine,” she resumed throwing stones, “If you hadn’t, they would’ve never gotten there, and I…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but they both knew what she would’ve ended up saying. 

Bernard held out his hand, “Truce?” 

Amara slapped her hand in his and held it for a moment, “Truce.” 

They let go of each other’s hand and continued throwing rocks into the canal. The ripples that each stone made billowed out and dissipated on the edge of the water. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Bernard asked her. He shifted his position so that he was facing her. She glanced over at him. 

“My dad’s not letting me out of his sight. He and my uncles are going to some festival and they’re dragging me with,” She said, with a slight edge to her voice. Not that she was angry at being included in a family outing, but that she was there as a punitive measure. 

“Shoot, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come over. It’s our neighbor’s birthday and Mum’s making the food,” Bernard said and Amara groaned. Elise Smith was by far the best cook in all of Small Heath, and Amara never made it a habit of missing one of her famous feasts. 

“This festival better be something special if I have to miss your mum’s food,” Amara said, and that was all that she could think about when she woke up the next morning. 

“Hurry up and eat, kid,” John said, lightly shoving her on the back of the head, “Tommy wants to leave soon.” 

Amara rolled her eyes and gave him a mumbled reply, “Yeah, whatever.” She finished her bread and cup of tea and joined her uncles and dad outside. Thomas flicked his cigarette into the road as he saw his daughter exiting the house. 

“Alright,” He fixed his cap on his head and turned to face the car sitting in the road, “Off to the fair.” 

“Are you sure I can’t go to Bernard’s?” Amara asked. Tommy replied without turning back to face her. 

“No,” He opened the door and motioned for everyone to pile in. Johnny and Amara piled into the backseat while Tommy and Arthur sat in the front. 

“It’s just,” Amara said, leaning on the back of the front seat with her elbows resting on the leather, “Bernard’s mum is cooking and you know she’s the best cook in Birmingham--” 

“Don’t let Polly hear you say that,” John snickered under his breath. Amara swatted at him to be quiet. 

“--and you don’t even really need me and--” 

“Amara Jane, enough,” There was an edge to Thomas’s voice that made Amara stop talking. He rarely used her middle name, but even without it, she could tell that he was not going to budge. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. 

“Oooh, middle name,” Arthur teased as Thomas started the car. He turned around and ruffled his nieces hair, the gentle gesture deterring some of the anger that was brewing in the pit of her stomach, “It’s only ‘cause he cares. We all do.” 

“Yeah, I know,” She stared at her dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror as she said that, but even then the anger was dissipating. She could never really stay mad at anyone for long, especially her family. A knowing glint appeared in Tommy’s blue eyes, and Amara knew that he wasn’t mad at her. For all his brutality, Thomas Shelby could never stay mad at his daughter too long, either. 

By the time they arrived at the Lee camp, Amara was actually looking forward to the day ahead. She rarely got to escape the smoke and industrialization of Small Heath, and she had forgotten how beautiful the English countryside was. Thomas pulled the car over to the side of the road and halted the engine. 

“I thought you said we was going to the fair,” Arthur said as Tommy stepped out of the car. 

“Hang on, that’s the Lee camp,” John pointed his finger toward the caravans that had been set up by the river. 

“Yeah, I have business first,” Thomas turned to face the car and gestured, “C’mon. Bring your wits.” 

“Tommy!” A man called from the riverbank. His accent wasn’t Birmingham, but Amara could place him immediately from her family’s stories. 

“Johnny Dogs!” Tommy’s arms were open in greeting as Johnny Dogs came to shake his hand. Amara shuffled out of the car, but kept her distance, instead leaning on the black metal instead of following her uncles. 

“I thought you became a bit too grand for us,” Johnny said, a playful glint of mischief in his tone. 

Tommy smiled and put a cigarette in his mouth, “I’ve been busy.” The two men walked a few steps from the car and chatted. 

“I’m riding with the Lee family now,” He said, nodding with his head towards the men that were watching them carefully. 

“I heard. I myself would rather live among pigs,” He said with a pointed glance toward the Lee brothers. They kept walking and Johnny led Thomas to a white horse that was standing next to the caravan. It was beautiful, at least what Amara could see. She didn’t get to see as many animals as she wished living in Small Heath. In another life, she would’ve liked to raise pigs or keep chickens. Something that let her be around living creatures. 

“And that’s the car,” Johnny Dogs said with a wicked grin on his face. He walked over to it and gave a low whistle that Amara couldn’t figure out who it was for-- the car or her. 

“Watch yourself,” her Uncle John said. From his tone, Amara could hear that he didn’t appreciate the whistle toward either the car or her and she had to fight the smile that was creeping its way onto her face. Johnny Dogs put his hands up in a surrender motion and winked at Amara before he went on to inspect the car that she was leaning on. Thomas began to do the same with the horse. 

Amara walked over to where he was lifting the hoof off the ground and inspecting the horse’s foot, “You dragged us all out here for a horse?” She asked, and Thomas gave her a slight nod. 

“An investment,” He said. He turned to face her, a light smile on his face, “What do you think?” 

“Beautiful,” She grinned and ran a hand over the horse’s shoulder, “Absolutely beautiful.” 

“Hang on,” Arthur exclaimed, putting the pieces together. He glanced back and forth between the Shelby’s and the car, “You’re not swapping the family car for a bloody horse.” 

“Of course we’re not swapping it, huh, that’d be mad,” Johnny Dogs said, returning to where Thomas was standing. 

“We’re gonna play two-up,” Thomas pointed his finger at Arthur and fished a coin out of his pocket while Johnny did the same. They both flicked the coins up in the air and waited for them to land, and even Amara had to admit that it probably wasn’t one of her dad’s smartest plans. The coins landed and Tommy gave the key to the car to Johnny Dogs. 

“See, I knew it,” Arthur exclaimed, “You’ve done it this time--” 

“Shut up, Arhur. I won,” Thomas took a drag of his cigarette, “I promised Johnny Dogs a spin in the car if he lost.” 

“Alright,” Arthur said, visibly calming down from whatever rage he was working himself into, and even Amara had to let out a breath. For all her observational skills and intuition, she could never really reserve the worry that her father was getting out of his depth.


	6. Chapter 6

“What do you mean the Inspector was here?” Amara asked Polly, who was sitting at the table smoking a cigarette. John dipped his glass in the bucket of beer that was sitting on the table and offered a sip to Amara, who accepted with a slight admonishing look from her father. 

“They broke into houses looking for communists. Coppers said Arthur agreed to it when he was arrested. They said the Peaky Blinders had cleared out to the fair to let them do it,” Polly said. 

“Yeah, well I never said nothing to that copper about smashing up bloody houses,” He slammed his fist on the table, startling Amara. 

“Alright, which pubs did they do?” Thomas asked, putting his hand out in a calming manner towards Arthur. Polly took another puff of her cigarette before she answered. 

“The Guns, the Jade, the Marquis. All the ones that pay you to protect them. The only one they didn’t touch was the Garrison.” 

“To make sure people thought we were in on it, he’s smart,” Amara muttered loudly.

“We?” Thomas asked. It was only one word, but it was enough for Amara to realize that her place with the Peaky Blinders would always be through her family, not in the gang itself. 

Polly gave Amara a comforting pat on the shoulder before barking orders at the Blinders, “So, go on. Drink your beers, get out. You better show people you’re still the cocks of the walk.”

The men put their beers on the table with a resounding chorus of glass thuds, and headed for the door, “And also cash to the landlords of the pubs, Pay some veterans to fix the places up.” Thomas said as they filed out the door. Polly and Thomas were the only ones left, but Amara suspected that it was because they had business to discuss, that they wouldn’t let her listen on. The place sat quiet for a minute as Thomas lit up a cigarette and Polly followed the boys out to bestow final orders. 

“Aunt Pol and I have things to discuss,” Thomas said, looking at her as he got his cigarette lit. He took a puff and waved toward the door, the smoke billowing up to his face. 

“And you want me gone,” Amara had stood up even before her father had finished talking and made way for the door, “Got it.” 

“I know you think it’s unfair,” Thomas said once her back was turned, “But I’m not going to explain or apologize.” 

“I know,” Amara didn’t turn around and just kept walking, “I know.” 

Thomas just stared at her back as she walked out of the house. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was scolding himself for being the cause of her hunched shoulders and forlorn expressions, but he knew what happened to people in this business and he was determined to not let her be a part of it. Polly came back through the door and shut it behind her.   
“You shouldn’t be so hard on her,” Polly started while lighting another cigarette, “She just wants to be like you.” 

“That’s what worries me,” Thomas didn’t look up from the floor, “I’d rather she hate me for the rest of her life, long as she has the rest of her life to live.” 

Polly didn’t say anything and only nodded in slight agreement. She knew this was a dangerous business and had regrets about it herself, “So, we both know what they were looking for.” She said, sitting down in a chair that was already pulled out, “You don’t read the papers.” 

“Racing papers.” 

“So let me tell you the odds,” She took a puff off her cigarette and pointed at him, “I reckon it’s three to one there’ll be a revolution.” 

Thomas shook his head slightly, “I wouldn’t bet on that.” 

“That copper is. He’s not going to let it rest until he gets those guns back.” At that, Tommy looked up. 

“Did he talk to you, Pol?” He asked. 

“In the church.” 

Thomas scoffed, “Did he try to find our Ada?” 

“She was sleeping,” Polly remarked. Tommy would likely find out soon enough where she was, but Polly was not going to be the one to tell him. 

“Where was she sleeping, Pol?” Thomas held his cigarette in his hand and watched the smoke curl for a moment as Polly answered. 

“I thought you didn’t care for women’s business,” Tommy didn’t say anything, and Polly took that as a sign to keep speaking, “He knows you’re the boss. He wants to meet you.”   
Thomas didn’t say anything. 

“Will you?” Aunt Pol prompted. 

“No, you don’t parley when you’re on the back foot. We’ll strike a blow back first.” 

 

Amara got to Bernard’s house just after Mrs. Smith cleaned up the meal from the afternoon. Her house had also been ransacked in the morning, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt because she was caught in the crossfire of the Shelby/Campbell feud. 

“Amara, dear,” Mrs. Smith opened the door and ushered her inside, “I knew you’d end up stopping by.” 

“I tried to come earlier,” She tried, but Elise silenced her with a wave of her hand. 

“No worries, I saved some food for you,” She led her to the kitchen to a plate that had been wrapped up for her. At the smell of the food, Amara’s mouth started watering and her stomach nearly growled; she had barely eaten all day. 

“You’re a saint, Mrs. Smith,” She sat down at the table and began to eat the bread that was on the side of the plate. 

“Elise, please. How many times have I told you?” She smiled. Amara muttered a quick apology through her mouthful of food, “I’ll go fetch Bernard for you. He’ll be happy you’re here.” She disappeared and a moment later Bernard came bounding into the kitchen. The light from the setting sun illuminated his red-brown chestnut hair. 

“Hey,” He greeted, pulling up a chair and stealing a bit of food from her plate. 

“Oy!” She objected. 

“If you’re almost done pigging out, we should go to the Garrison,” He said, leaning back in his chair, “I’m in the mood to drink.” 

Amara shot him a look, “They’re not going to let you drink.” 

“They will if I’m with a Shelby,” He had a grin on his face that made Amara smile and forget her family troubles. 

“Again with the free perks,” She finished her plate and put it in the sink, “I’m always gonna be a name to you, aren’t I?” 

“Always,” He teased. Bernard followed Amara to the door and they walked in comfortable silence to the pub, perhaps a little closer than friends should’ve been. 

“How was the party?” She asked him and he shrugged. 

“Alright. Dad was late and Mum was mad, but didn’t say anything,” He stared at the ground as they walked, “He’s gotten worse, but Mum never brings it up. I think she thinks that war was punishment enough.” 

Amara nodded. Sometimes at night, she could hear her father stirring in the room next to her and often times saw the opium pipe that was sitting on his nightstand when she walked by in the morning, but she never brought it up. 

“I just wish-” He started, before he was interrupted by someone calling Amara’s name behind them. She turned on her heel and saw her father walking towards them, “And it’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at the Garrison,” She said before he gave her a quick nod and continued walking. 

“I have a job for you,” Thomas said once he caught up with her, skipping the pleasantries. Amara’s ears perked up. She was rarely used for jobs and when she was, it was mostly to carry messages. 

“Yeah?” She asked. Thomas nodded with his head towards the side of the street and leaned against the brick wall of one of the buildings. 

“If you’re up for it,” He said. There was a glint in his eyes that said he was planning something rebellious. 

“Always,” She said without hesitation.


	7. Chapter 7

Amara pushed open the doors to the Garrison and headed straight for the picture that was hanging by the bar, but not before finding Bernard standing by the counter in some sort of disagreement with Harry. 

“It’s just one drink,” Bernard was saying. His elbows were on the counter and he was gesturing with his hands. 

“Sorry, Bernie,” Harry said. He wiped the spot between his elbows, “You’re a kid. Not allowed.” 

“C’mon, Harry,” Amara said, “It’s just one.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but adapted a new nervous air around the Shelby kid, “I don’t…” 

Amara gave him a smile and reached over the counter, grabbing two glasses. She set them on the wood and looked at him with pleading eyes, “Please?” 

“Fine,” He muttered, fishing out a bottle of dark amber liquid, “Just this once.” Bernard let out a small cheer and waited as Harry filled up the glasses. Amara stepped around him and grabbed the picture before returning to Bernard’s side.

“What’s that?” He barely looked at her as he asked. She showed him the picture and cocked an eyebrow. 

“Kindling. There’s a bonfire.” She said. 

“What?” He looked away from the counter and stared at her in disbelief, “You planning on having a fire with King George?” Amara nodded and Bernard felt his features twist in an expression of apprehension and shock. Burning pictures was an unorthodox thing to do, but pictures of the King was borderline dangerous, even for the Peaky Blinders. Amara downed her glass and gestured towards the door with her head. 

“C’mon. Everyone’s invited,” She turned towards the door and walked out, not even checking to see if Bernard was following because she heard him slam his glass down on the counter a few moments later and follow behind her. 

“Are you mad?” He asked and Amara shook her head. 

“Possibly,” She said, “But it was my Dad’s idea. To get back at that Inspector.” They kept walking and stopped at the first house they saw. She handed the photo to Bernard and knocked on the door. 

“That’s dangerous, even for your family,” He said, but he made no move to retreat. Amara said nothing and just smiled at him as they waited for an answer. A moment later, the door swung open and a middle-aged woman answered in her nightgown. 

“For your picture of the King,” She said, holding up a coin. The woman tightened the gown around herself. 

“What?” She asked. Amara repeated herself and the woman scoffed, but disappeared for a minute before returning with her picture of the King. 

“I hope your Dad knows what he’s doin’,” She muttered, partly to herself before closing the door on Amara and Bernard. 

“Me, too,” Bernard said to Amara as they went down the street and collected more photos. By the time they got to Watery Lane, they had close to fifteen photos tucked under their arms. The bonfire had already started and the crowd of people was slowly growing in size and noise. Amara pushed herself to the front with Bernard close behind her. 

“Alright, ‘Mara,” Someone said, clapping her on the shoulder and she turned around and grinned. 

“Alright, Scud,” She said. Scudboat was one of her favorite people in the betting shop. He didn’t say much, but he usually had a joke ready for her to make her laugh. At the front of the fire, she found her father and uncles standing in front of the fire drinking and chatting. As she threw the first picture on, her Uncle Arthur handed the bottle to John and came over to wrap an arm around her. 

“Took you long enough,” He grinned, helping her and Bernard throw the pictures on the fire.

“Don’t be rude,” She shoved him gently and accepted the bottle that was being passed around the fire. She took a large gulp before her Dad grabbed it out of her hand, dribbling some of the liquid down her chin. 

“No hard stuff,” He said sternly before taking a sip for himself and passing it down the line. 

“Do you think we should tell him about the one from before?” Bernard whispered into her ear, making her laugh slightly. Thomas’s gaze flittered to the two when he heard her laugh. It had been a while since he had seen his daughter act like a normal girl. He knew that she hid parts of herself to make herself seem strong and his heart pained at the fact that she was doing it to impress him. 

“Do you think this is gonna work?” Amara said lowly to him, shaking him out of his thoughts. He took a puff of his cigarette before answering. 

“Yes,” He said, “I had a reporter come and do a story. It’ll be in Churchill’s hands soon enough.” 

Amara nodded, slightly amazed at his answer. He didn’t usually explain his plans, especially to her. People usually understood or found out later. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, not looking at her and Amara did a double take. 

“What?” She asked. Her brows were knitted in confusion. An apology was not something to be taken lightly from Thomas Shelby. 

“I’m harder on you, especially recently, but,” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but she could tell the words were not easy to say. She stared at his face as he formed the words slowly, like he didn’t know what to say, “I can’t lose you.” You’re the only thing I haven’t messed up yet, he continued in his head, not quite finding the courage to say the words out loud. 

Amara felt the tears before she realized she was crying. She wiped the streaks from her face and just nodded, “I understand.” Her voice broke, but she hoped that in those two words, he could hear the words that weren’t spoken. Thomas looked over at her and nodded in return, the lump in his throat thick as he tried to swallow. He cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around his daughter, pulling her into his side in an awkward half-hug. Amara leaned into him and stared at the fire that was burning orange against the twilight sky. 

 

The next morning, Amara was the last one out of bed and downstairs for breakfast. Polly was sitting at the table already, paper open to the Birmingham Dispatch’s take on the impending revolution. . 

“You’re up later than usual,” She remarked. Amara only nodded as she spread a bit of jam on a slice of bread. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” She mumbled. Her sleep hadn’t been restful; she kept having nightmares. In them, she was standing on the middle of a battlefield, but there were no bullets flying and it was eerily silent. Then, the ground caved underneath her and she was in a tunnel. The dust was so cloudy that she could barely breathe; it clogged her lungs and coated her entire body. The ground was pushing in around her from all sides until she couldn’t breathe anymore, and that was when she usually woke up, sweaty and gasping as she remembered how to breathe again. 

“Tell me,” Aunt Pol said. It wasn’t a question; Polly already knew about her nightmares. They happened frequently during the war, and on more than one occasion, Polly had to comfort her in the middle of the night. Amara ran her hands down her face in an effort to make herself seem more awake than she was. 

“They’re worse,” She didn’t meet Polly’s eyes, “They’re back, but it’s worse.” 

Polly wrapped her hands around her great niece’s. Amara didn’t tell her the other part, that the nightmares had gotten worse after she’d been attacked a few weeks ago and that sometimes she didn’t wake up before the men broke through the dust and put their hands on her. Before Polly could say anything, Ada walked into the kitchen 

“Nice of you to join us,” Polly remarked. She pressed a kiss to Amara’s unsteady hands before dropping them back into her lap. Ada sat next to the two and started to eat a slice of bread, oblivious to what was going on before. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” Amara asked, turning her attention to her aunt. Ada shrugged and shoved the bread into her mouth. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t wake up,” She took a sip of her water, “then I had to go for a wee, and then I was with a bear on a boat, but that was a dream.” 

Amara suppressed a laugh and rolled her eyes at Ada’s antics. She glanced over at Polly, who hadn’t said anything but was staring intently at Ada. Amara picked up the paper and skimmed through the headlines. 

“Are you reading the paper?” Ada’s voice was amused, “You never read the papers.” 

“First time for everything,” Amara skimmed the pages before placing the paper back on the table, “Now I know why I don’t read it. It’s all the same,” She gestured at the headlines, “Everyone’s on strike and the IRA are still killing our boys.”

“Same old Birmingham, eh?” Ada laughed at Amara. When they weren’t bickering with each other, they got on quite well. 

“Stand up,” Aunt Polly commanded, breaking the comfortable moment of silence that had fallen over them. 

“What?” The crumbs spilled out of Ada’s mouth as she shot a confused look to Polly, “Why?” 

“Just do it,” Polly snuffed her cigarette out on the ashtray as she stood and looked at Ada with a funny look on her face. 

“What is it, Aunt Pol?” Amara asked, not understanding what was going on. 

“Side on,” Polly said, ignoring what Amara said. Ada sighed but complied and turned to face the wall. Polly reached out and grabbed Ada’s breast, earning a shout of protest from the only Shelby sister. 

“Oy! What’re you doing?” She exclaimed. 

“Ada,” Polly’s tone was slow and cautious, “How late are you?” 

“A week,” Ada lied, “Okay, five weeks. Seven if you count weekends.” Her voice trailed off at the end of her sentence as she realized the severity of her words. 

“Ada,” said Polly sternly. 

“I think it’s a lack of iron,” She attempted feebly, sitting down next to Amara. She grabbed the older girl’s hand and squeezed it gently in comfort. 

“What are you going to do?” Amara whispered to Ada. 

“We don’t even know if I am-” Ada stopped abruptly. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. 

“We’ll go tonight,” Polly said, “There’s a woman not far from here.” Ada didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. She just nodded and let Amara rub comforting circles in her back.


	8. Chapter 8

Amara threw another leaf into the water below her. The branch she was sitting on didn’t have many left, but her hands acted without thought. Ada was pregnant. That was all she could think about. She could have another cousin, someone who looked up to her as much as she looked up to Ada. Sighing in frustration, Amara climbed down from the tree branch and landed on the gravel. As much as she was excited, there was a part of her that knew that the fallout from this would be catastrophic, especially it was Freddie’s baby. 

Amara walked back into town, her legs moving without an actual destination in place. Unsurprisingly, she ended up at the Garrison. Pushing the door open, she sat herself at the bar and drummed her fingers on the counter. A moment later, a blonde woman appeared, drying a glass with a towel as she spoke. 

“Can I get you anything?” She asked. Her Irish accent threw Amara off, but she nodded nonetheless. 

“Beer,” She said. The woman nodded and placed her drink on the counter in front of her a moment later. 

“What’s troubling you?” The woman asked, and Amara didn’t answer, opting instead to sip on the cool amber liquid. 

“Family stuff,” She sighed. 

“What family stuff?” The woman said. Her question wasn’t outwardly suspicious, but it still made Amara slightly wary. 

“Nothing important,” She didn’t look up at the barmaid, instead tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. 

“I heard it helps to talk about what’s bothering you,” She persisted and Amara sighed. Maybe it was the comforting nature of the woman behind the bar or the swirling thoughts in her head that made her start talking. 

“I think my dad’s in over his head,” Her voice was monotone. Her gaze flickered up to the barmaid, who was listening intently, “And he doesn’t know it.” 

“Why do you think that?” She asked. 

“It’s just a feeling. It…” She started, but then stopped. If she wasn’t careful, she would start talking and not stop. She took a deep breath and chugged the rest of her beer. There wasn’t much left, but she didn’t want to sit in that bar any longer, “It’s nothing. Just a feeling.” She left without another word, and wandered the streets of Birmingham aimlessly, long after the sun went down and the street lights turned on. By the time she ended up at home, her mind hadn’t become any less overwhelmed. 

She opened the door quietly so she wouldn’t disturb whoever was working in the shop, but it seemed that it didn’t matter. She heard the glass smash, before she heard the shouting. 

“...Tommy and his parliament of one?” Polly yelled at Thomas. She could just make out the edge of Polly’s form as she leaned over and yelled at Tommy, who she assumed was seated on the other side of the table. Amara just stood there. If she moved forward, she would be seen and she didn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of Aunt Pol’s wrath. Plus, she wanted to hear what they were arguing about. 

“I thought you came here to talk family business,” Tommy said. His voice was barely audible from the front door, so Amara moved closer to the door of the betting shop, careful to keep herself out of view. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Polly said. There was some light shuffling that sounded like she was taking something out of her bag, “You’re too busy taking over the world.” 

“Polly, if it’s about Ada, I need to know,” Thomas’s voice was firm, but there was a slight note of concern. Ada was his only sister and there would always be a degree of responsibility he felt for her, no matter how old they were. 

“Ada wants you to give Freddie this letter,” Polly said, “She wants Freddie to know she’s having his baby.” Amara smiled despite herself. Ada was pregnant. 

“I say we give them a chance,” Polly continued and Amara didn’t miss the optimism her words held. Even with everything going on, she still believed that Freddie and Ada could be happy. 

“For a woman who’s had a hard life with men, you’re still full of romance, eh?” A chair pushed backwards as Thomas stood up, “What do you think he sees in our Ada?” 

“That’s Freddie’s business,” Polly said curtly. 

“No,” Tommy continued, “I’ll tell you what he sees. Machine guns, and ammunition, and rifles, and some glorious revolution.” 

“What is it you really don’t like about Freddie?” Pol asked. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what had caused the rift between the two former best friends. 

Thomas ignored the question, “She’ll have no life with a man on the run. If you can’t see that, you can’t see much.” There was a clatter of metal that made Amara jump. 

“Damn them for what they did to you in France,” Polly yelled. There were furious footsteps and Amara shrunk herself against the wall so she wouldn’t be spotted. 

“It’d do no good to bring a baby into this world alone! It never does,” Thomas yelled after her as Polly stormed out, not even noticing her great niece. There was another clatter of metal as he kicked the furnace. After a few tense minutes, Amara stepped out from behind the wooden frame. Thomas barely looked up. 

“Would you have thought the same thing about my mum?” Amara’s tone was lifeless, dull. Thomas looked up in confusion, and felt his face fall as he replayed the words over in his head. 

“‘Mara,”” Thomas started, but she shook her head. 

“I know. You didn’t mean it,” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged, “But think about it? It’s not my mum this time, it’s Ada. Give Freddie the chance to do something, the right thing.” Thomas didn’t say anything, but instead just looked at his daughter as she kept talking, “You were his best mate once. Do you really believe he would leave his child, given the chance?”

 

Amara was shaken awake at an ungodly hour of the morning. She cracked one eye open and was surprised to see her father standing there, fully dressed. 

“What time is it?” She asked. Her voice was thick with sleep, and she could barely keep her eyes open. 

“You were right,” He said. Amara cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Her mind spun and finally remembered the one sided conversation she had with him last night, “Ada and Freddie.” Thomas nodded. 

“I need you to do something for me.” He said. Amara studied his face and saw apprehension in his blue eyes. 

She nodded, “Let me get dressed first.” 

 

Amara knocked on the door of the house by the Cut. It was run down and inconspicuous. She must’ve walked by it a hundred times and never really paid attention to it. It had brown shutters and a dark green front door with the number 7 on it. The flower pots on the stoop that may have once held bright blossoms were now bare and held only dull soil. She knocked again. 

The door opened a crack and she was met with the face of a very tired middle-aged man. His brown hair was sticking up at odd angles and his eyes still held traces of sleep in them, “Can I help you?” 

“I’m looking for Freddie Thorne,” She said and the man shook his head, but not before paling slightly. 

“There’s no one here by that name,” He tried to shut the door, but Amara stuck her foot just inside the frame. 

“It’s about Ada,” She said and the door opened wider, this time with Freddie standing behind the man. 

“Let her in,” He said. The man looked between the two. 

“Are you sure?” He said, and Freddie nodded. The man opened the door and Amara stepped into the house. It was small, but quaint. There were pictures of the man and a woman, presumably his wife, surrounded by 3 children. 

“Give us a minute,” Freddie whispered to the man, and he gave them a quick nod before disappearing up the stairs. Freddie turned toward Amara and gestured toward the couch. 

“I’ll stand,” She said. 

Freddie nodded, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You’ve grown.” Amara smiled as a flash of a memory came into her head. Thomas and Freddie had taken her to the schoolyard while John and Ada were in class and let her climb on the fences outside the building. She had grabbed one of the bars with her fat little fist, but the metal was weak or her hands hadn’t had a proper grip and she fell. Freddie had caught her before she hit the ground. 

“Yeah, sorry it turned out the way it did,” She said and Freddie nodded with a sad smile on his face. The smile disappeared as he remembered what she was here for. 

“Is Ada all right?” He asked. There was a frantic look in his eye and Amara nodded her head quickly. 

“She’s fine. You actually might want to sit down,” she mimicked the gesture that Freddie gave her earlier and he shook his head. 

“Tell me,” He nearly begged. 

Amara took a deep breath, “She wants you to know she’s pregnant. It’s yours, obviously.” Freddie froze and slowly lowered himself into the couch. 

“She’s… pregnant?” He covered his mouth with his hands. A moment later, a large smile appeared on his face. In light that peaked through the window, she could see tears had begun to gather on his lash line. 

“If you leave now, you can catch her at the train station,” Amara said. Freddie glanced at the clock on the wall, “Marry her. Get her out of Birmingham.” He nodded and stood up from the couch, grabbing his coat on the way to the front door. He paused as he reached out for the handle.

Turning his head, he asked, “Does Tommy know about this?” 

“Who do you think sent me?” She said, and a grin broke out on his face as he disappeared outside. Maybe the great Thomas Shelby did have a heart, after all.


End file.
